


Belphoebe

by Blue_fantasy



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, Canon Compliant, Childhood Memories, Crying, Daydreaming, Episode: s08e06 The Iron Throne, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Iron Islands (Westeros), Memories, Post - Game of Thrones (TV), Post-Canon, Sibling Love, Siblings, Sister-Sister Relationship, Sisters, True Love, Unplanned Pregnancy, Winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2020-12-20 17:46:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21060674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_fantasy/pseuds/Blue_fantasy
Summary: Sansa's wandering thoughts beginning with her coronation, mostly about Theon.The title is taken from Edmund Spencer's poem The Faerie Queen. His character, Belphoebe, is a representation of Queen Elizabeth I. I see many echoes of the queen within the character of Sansa Stark.This is a fic I will occasionally add to and may never actually have an ending.Warning: the first few chapters cover a lot of Sansa's grief. Sad. May make you cry.





	1. Weight and Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa reflects on her crown and her loss--of Theon.

She can feel the weight of the metal on her head. The weight that comes with that piece of metal is standing in front of her. All the lords and ladies of the north, her bannermen and bannerwomen, her sworn swords, her queensguard. They all represent the weight of responsibility that rests on her head now.

This crown is not a pretty thing put on for make-believe, not for the pretty princess to wear in distress in a tower. She has already had her daydream of childhood come true, though the reality of it was not what the little naive girl she once was could have even comprehended. Being locked in a tower in distress was not a pretty thing. But she had been rescued. Her prince had saved her from that tower, from that wretched existence. And in the end she had been his princess rescuing him from his dungeon of nightmares.

That was something the songs never sang about. That princesses could rescue princes. Goodness, they could rescue all of humanity with one stealthy piece of dragon glass.

Will the great bards one day write of her sister, the Princess who slayed the Night King? Will they sing about the Red Wolf Princess who saved the Kraken Prince so he could help the Princess who slayed the Night King? If they had been men, the songs would already be sung in every inn and great hall across the North.

As the crowd before her relaxed from the formal coronation proceeding, she glanced down at the empty chair next to her throne, the one her mother occupied all her childhood. And it would remain empty for all the rest of her days. There was only one man she had ever fully trusted in all her life to sit in that chair beside her and he was gone. In retrospect, not even her father or brothers could have been trusted. Her father should have known better than to take her into the lion's den. Robb should have gotten her out. Jon should never have given up the North. And Bran. Bran was no longer Bran and spoke in riddles and half-truths.

There was one man in all her life that she would trust with everything and he was gone. She had known him since she was a child. They were the only ones who truly knew each other's suffering in the darkest moments of their lives. Neither would have survived the dark without the other. She could trust no man that way ever again in her life.

So the chair next to her would always remain empty. She would find a way to determine her heir without the elbowing and shoving of the lords and their sons who feasted before her in the hall. Find a way to keep that chair empty so that she can keep her heart full of Theon.

When had she realized she was in love with him? Surely it wasn't in the snow, in the woods, when he told her he wasn't going with her. She cared deeply for him by then, but she wasn't in love.

Was it when Jon told her he had seen him at Dragonstone and his first words were to ask after her? Surely not. But she remembered how it had warmed her heart to know he was thinking of her as she had been thinking of him.

Somehow by the time she saw him standing in the hall at Winterfell before the Dragon Queen, she was in love with him. She knew it to be so by the feeling deep down in her body that she had never felt about another man, not even as a little girl still floating in the clouds of her fairy tales with a crush on a different prince.

She knew it to be so when he offered to protect Bran in the Godswood and she hid in her chamber crying because she knew they would never be together. He was going to die and the pain in her heart felt like when she watched her father beheaded, but more acute and aching. 

She knew it to be so when they sat in silence eating soup, looking up at each other, seeing the way he looked at her, a way no other man ever had. His gaze was full of care, respect, hope, peace, and longing. She could swear in that moment he loved her in return. No man had ever truly loved her before and no man ever would again.

She knew it to be so as she was grasping at his armor as he lay on the pyre, tears flowing in rivers down her cheeks and onto his, for all to see. And she didn't care. In that moment she realized she hadn't cared what anyone thought of her affections toward him since he arrived. She had found and lost the love of her life in a matter of hours and it was maddening.

As the ashes settled, she realized he had taught her a valuable lesson. As long as the gods keep us alive, we have a purpose to serve and let that purpose be a meaningful one that makes all the lives lost to get there worth it. She would make the loss of his life worth it. He had saved her from the tower, saved her from the Night King, so that she could stand up for the independence of the North. She would make the North prosper and the people healthy and happy in the memory of his sacrifice. It would be the mission she would dedicate her life to.

That night, as she left the feast, she found herself standing in front of a chamber door she hadn't walked through since she was a little girl, hand in hand with her little sister, whimpering from a nightmare, hoping that maybe this big brother of hers would awaken and open his door to give them shelter from the dark corners of Winterfell.

She could feel the wood grain of the door corrugated under her fingertips as she pushed it open. She stepped in and set her lamp on the table next to the bed. The maids had kept the space clean even though no one had used this chamber in years. She saw flashes in her mind of a teenage boy rubbing sleep from his eyes, lifting Arya into the bed. She saw him tucking her in next to her sister. She saw his silhouette under a blanket on the floor in front of the fire. Had she loved him for that long?

She slipped off her dress and, in her shift, slipped under the furs on the bed. It still smelled like him. She ran her fingers along the bottom of the headboard until she found it. His sigil crudely carved into the wood, hidden behind pillows so her mother wouldn't see. She traced her fingers along each tentacle as if tracing the fingers on his hand. Her tears soaked the pillow. Soon, she was fast asleep, with him in her dreams, his fingers wrapped around her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan on using this work as an outlet for my feelings about the Theon/Sansa relationship. I never knew I needed them together until I saw episode 8.02. It frequently gets stuck in my head. I think there are some personal connections I have to hurt and healing and learning from naive mistakes, eventually finding love and comfort with someone different from what I had pictured as a girl. So, there will be more chapters.
> 
> I am a visual artist by training and profession. I have not truly worked on any creative writing since high school and I still have my work from the last class and I cringe when I attempt to read it. Lately I have had creative ideas and concepts in my head that would be better served through writing than visual imagery. I am finding fanfiction to be a bit of a safe space to exercise my writing muscles, kind of like a sketchbook. Constructive feedback is welcome.
> 
> The next chapter is partially written. Hoping to finish it soon. It is chronologically after the last one and another moment in her life as Queen where thoughts of Theon are foremost in her mind.


	2. Pyke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa visits Pyke for the first time and has an offer for Yara.

She hadn't been nervous like this in a long time. Her stomach aflutter in anticipation, fear, hope. Anticipation of visiting his birthplace and his family. To finally see for herself the place from all Theon's stories. The place that made up half of who he had been.

Fear that they would be cold towards her, indifferent, or worse, hostile. The last time the leader of the North set foot on Pyke, he took their prince as hostage.

Hope that she and Yara would find a connection and get along. The last and only time they saw each other was tense. Did Yara blame her for Theon's death? Her brother, er cousin, had killed the queen that had promised Yara independence for the Iron Islands. Yet, it was Sansa who walked away from that meeting a Queen with an independent kingdom. And now Yara is but the Lady of the land she oversees. Sansa hopes that what she comes to offer will ease the tension between them.

And she needs to tell her. She needs to tell someone that she was in love with Theon, is in love with him and always will be. She never told him. She needs to tell the only other person alive who loved him. She needs her to know that when he left her for Winterfell, he not only went to save the world but to save the woman who was deeply in love with him.

As she looks out over the deck of the ship, before her is an image straight out of Theon's stories from her childhood. She realizes how skilled he was at creating a detailed and honest picture with his words. The memories push tears up behind her eyes and it takes all her self-control to keep them there.

She had daydreams as a girl, and if she was being honest, she still has them in her quiet, peaceful moments alone. She dreams of herself as a princess of the Iron Islands, married to the handsome prince who has returned to claim his rightful place as heir. She vividly imagines the two of them standing together on the beach, hand in hand, looking out at the ocean. 

She imagines their wedding on the beach, before the Drowned God, as he had described the Ironborn traditions to her. He must have felt something even then, for she could tell he knew she loved romantic stories and he would share them with her in the small moments they spent together as children, maybe to impress her.

A moment of anger flashes over her. Gods, she was so blinded by the glittery allure of Joffrey, King's Landing, and becoming queen of all seven kingdoms. She feels guilty for being angry at her mother who filled her head with prejudice towards Theon and the Ironborn and false stories of a perfect Southron life. If only she could go back to that girl and shake her awake and show her that her prince had always been right there. Right in front of her. That Theon was worth more than all the Seven Kingdoms combined. But that was not the gods' plan for them.

She wonders if they had been betrothed before Jon Arryn died, would that have saved them from the suffering they endured. Could she have kept Theon from turning on Robb and sacking Winterfell? Might her father have never gone to King's Landing? Might they all still be alive?

She shook the thoughts from her head. Dwelling on what ifs did not help. As the ship came into port, she could see Yara and a welcome party waiting for her. There was a warmth to the scene, like a hug, that made her feel more hopeful about this visit. The captain had even told her it was an unusually bright day for Pyke. Instead of the gloom and gray, there was a sunny warm green look about all the buildings and rocks and cliffs, like new leaves on a tree in spring. She imagined Theon deep in the Great Hall under the sea asking the Drowned God to bless this day for the sake of her and Yara.

Once she was off the ship and standing in front of Yara, her nerves started to get the better of her. Yara's stoic, unreadable eyes were studying her. She was usually good at reading others, but Yara was as skilled as she was at not letting others know how she felt. Suddenly, she was being squeezed in a tight embrace, Yara's face buried in her shoulder. She smelled like him. The hug took her back to the day he returned to Winterfell. She could no longer hold back her tears as she wrapped her arms around his sister. How long they held one another, she wasn't sure, but neither of them seemed to care if all those around them saw this act of affection between the two leaders. Most knew they both cared deeply for Theon and this just made the women more human in front of their people.

Yara released her from the embrace and grasped Sansa's upper arms with locked elbows. She looked directly into Sansa's reddened wet eyes. There were steaks of tears on the Ironborn's cheeks. Nothing was said. Nothing needed to be said in that moment. They mounted their horses and headed for the castle.

The castle was formidable. Where Winterfell was expansive and impressive across the land, Pyke struck up into the sky from the sea like a large fierce creature breaking the surface and shadowing over a small ship. She could see the ancient moss covered rope bridges connecting the towers. A brief flash of two men fighting on one of them came across her mind. She had heard whispers that their Uncle Euron had killed their father Balon on one of those bridges. It sent shivers up her spine.

Upon entering the great hall, she felt a cold dampness to the air. But the sun fighting to shine in, illuminated the giant kraken carved into the fireplace. She rubbed her fingers together thinking about the small kraken carving at Winterfell, the one she slept near when she needed comfort from her nightmares. Despite the damp cold, this room gave her a pleasant feeling, a connection to him.

Yara, herself, offered to lead her to her chamber. She put out her arm like a gentleman, and Sansa took it as they walked up the stairs and through the corridors. 

"I thought you might want to stay in his room. I stay here sometimes when I'm struggling with decisions or--", Yara paused and looked away toward the window, "--feeling lonely."

Sansa put her hand on Yara's, still arm and arm from the walk up to the room. "I stay in his old room at Winterfell from time to time for the same reasons. Thank you for your thoughtfulness."

Yara smiled at her and squeezed her arm in a familiar manner, similar to the way Arya responded to her. As Sansa returned the smile, Yara released her arm and stepped back, bowing her head. 

"Someone will be up soon to bring you to dinner. I'll let you get settled and rest until then."

"Thank you, Yara."

Sansa turned back toward the room. It still felt a bit like a little boy's room, not the room of a young man like at Winterfell. But of course it would because he spent such little time here as a grown man. She walked over to the desk, ran her fingers along the wood, closing her eyes, picturing Theon sitting here leaned over the flat surface.

There was some relief thinking about her task at hand for this visit. Yara's reception had been more than she ever imagined. The North was ready to strengthen trade between the regions and bind their military support. And with their two leaders able to work well together, the two kingdoms would be formidable. She felt confident now that the Ironborn woman would accept her assistance in petitioning her brother for the independence of the Iron Islands.

She turned her attention to the bed and sat down on the edge. She imagined a small boy being tucked under the blankets by his mother as she told him a story of the islands and the sea. Then she saw Arya and herself being tucked into bed by him as he told them the same story. She closed her eyes and let the tears come up as she kicked off her boots and laid back on the bed.

As she stretched her arm under the pillows and across the bed, she felt something soft but small and of a different texture from the bedding, like a soft rope. She rolled onto her stomach and pulled the object out from between the bed and headboard, propping herself up on her elbows. Before her was a small well-worn sewn and stuffed object with an elongated body, two long twisting tentacles, and eight shorter ones. There were eyes stitched onto the body. As she turned it over, letters were on the body in simple straight stitches, "For Theon Love Yara".

Sansa brought it to her face, breathing in the smell of salt and sea and him. Then she tucked it safely back into its hiding place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something I loved about the show was all the men fighting for power only to have so many women end up reigning. I really felt that Yara should have also asked for independence at that final meeting.
> 
> Oh, and I feel like there is a silent understanding between these two women about their love for Theon.


	3. A Sister Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya makes her way back to Winterfell. She is not alone.

The mop of brown hair and big brown eyes looking up at her brought flashes of her childhood back. She felt like her little baby sister as a tot was sitting in her lap. Waves of emotion and love swept over Sansa.

It had been more than two years since the Long Night, more than a year since she last saw or heard from her sister. Arya had left the meeting in King's Landing in a hurry. The last letter from her was from a port far to the west.

Now here she was sitting across from her in the Great Hall of Winterfell, filling her face with bread and stew, the lack of decorum a familiar sight on her sister. Sansa was holding little Lyanna on her lap, beginning to feel joyfully overwhelmed by the little girl. To see one of her siblings reflected in a child.

"Have you told Gendry? Have you even had contact with him since, you know?," Sansa asked her sister in a bit of a scolding tone.

"No," Arya muffled out through the chunk of bread in her mouth. "I mean, yes, I've written to him but I haven't told him about Lyanna. I don't know how. I don't know if I want to. I just--"

Arya stopped eating and looked down into her bowl. "The last time we spoke, I was insensitive. I hurt him. I broke his heart. I don't want to do that to him again."

"You don't want to hurt him again or you don't want to be uncomfortable with him again?"

Arya looked up at her sister with pleading sorrowful eyes. "Sans." It was like a plea for help. Like she was drowning in the weight of consequences.

"Do you love him?" Sansa asked in a stern big sisterly tone.

There was a long silence between them, the cooing of little Lyanna the only sound to be heard.

"I do. I always have. Even when I was a little girl hidden as a boy on the road out of King's Landing. He was the first crush I ever had, the only crush," she gave a little laugh and looking down, took another bite of her stew. Her sister's story and feelings were familiar to Sansa. Another moment where she realized they were more alike than different. "I wish he was still just a blacksmith who was free to wander the world with me. I can't be a lady, Sansa. I can't sit still." 

There was desperation in her voice. Sansa realized her sister now had two people she loved that were pulling her to be still, to live a stable and safe life. When it was just Gendry, she was able to just tell herself he was better off without her. But now there was their daughter, her niece. Oh my Gods! Her niece. She had become an aunt.

"Well, I will not be the one to tell him. I will let you decide on that matter. But as for Lyanna, she is my only heir since I know you will not want the crown and Bran already has a different one. I have a vested interest in her well being, her education. With that said, eventually Gendry will hear of her and figure it out. It could take years but he will know. Anyone that survived the Long Night with us will know soon. She is also heir to Storm's End. You know that Bran and I both would see her legitimized."

"I can't take that away from Gendry's legitimate children and wife," Arya exclaimed with sadness.

"My dear sister, you make assumptions. Has he not written you in return?"

"What do you mean? Of course I received some letters, but what young lord like himself wouldn't already have taken a wife and at least have a child on the way?"

"Arya, he is not married. He has no children, other than Lyanna. The court in King's Landing whispers of King Robert's handsome son who's heart was broken by a wolf. People know."

She could hear her sister take in a sharp breath. Arya was looking at her daughter longingly. 

Sansa continued, "You need to tell him but first you need to decide what you want. Do you want him? Are you going to leave again? What future do you want for Lyanna? Will she be raised at Storm's End or here at Winterfell? And I'm sorry, but I will not allow her to be raised on a ship off in the middle of nowhere, especially if you hope for her to have the option of choosing to become Queen one day."

"Ok. Ok. I know. Give me a few days to think this all through," Arya returned to eating. She finished her meal in silence, watching as Sansa cooed back and forth with her new little love.

The next morning she headed out to the Godswood to find Arya in the training yard, Lyanna toddling around with a little wooden sword just her size. 

Instead of her usual routine, Sansa sat down on a familiar bench on the side of the yard. She had sat there as a young girl watching her brothers and Theon hone their skills. She saw flashes of a young energetic and shirtless Ironborn prince wiping the sweat from his brow and glancing back at her on the bench. The image stirred something inside her. It was an image she would save in her mind for a later daydream.

As soon as little Lyanna saw her, she waddled over to the bench and tugged at Sansa's skirts. "Nauna. Nauna," the little girl said as she looked into her aunt's eyes, with a big gummy grin, two little teeth dotting her smile.

"I think she is saying Aunt Sansa. I heard it a few times last night and this morning," Arya explained through heavy breathing as she exerted herself with her staff exercises, beating on the straw dummy.

Hearing this, Sansa's heart skipped a beat as she lifted Lyanna up into her lap and tucked her into her arms. As she kissed the crown of the little girl's head, she slowly breathed in her scent. It was sweet with the hint of breast milk, combined with melting snow and a spring breeze. She gave her a quick little squeeze.

Ever since meeting this little girl yesterday, Sansa had been overwhelmed with the warmth of unconditional love that she had never felt before. She wondered if this was similar to what Arya felt as her mother. Sansa thought her heart would probably burst if she ever had her own child.

Closing her eyes, she imagined a little girl hair as red as the weirwood leaves and eyes like the sea standing in the training yard with a little bow taking target practice. She saw Theon bent over the little girl, whispering instructions in her ear. He suddenly looked up and directly at Sansa on the bench, giving her his handsome smirk. She released a long sigh. 

Feeling a little hand on her cheek, she opened her eyes and looked at Lyanna. She would do anything and everything for this little girl. Her education would include lessons with a septa, a maester, and the master-of-arms. She would never feel she needed a man for anything and she would control her destiny and be able to defend herself.

"Have you thought much about our conversation last night?" She asked her sister hesitantly.

After a few more blows to the straw figure, Arya twirled the staff around her body, bringing it vertical and stuck it into the dirt. She was facing Sansa and watching her daughter grab and squeeze at her aunt's cheeks, giggles rolling out from her belly.

"I want her raised at Winterfell. She is safer here in the North. I know you will make sure she is prepared for whatever comes her way. I will tell Gendry, soon. Very soon. I just need to figure out how to convince him that she should stay here." She walked over to a rack of weaponry and replaced the staff. She picked up a bow and ran her fingers along it. She froze, staring at it.

"Arya, what is it?"

A solemn look came across her sister's face. She put the bow down at her side, walked toward the bench, and put the bow out for Sansa to take. As she reached for it, Arya grabbed Lyanna off her lap.

There, carved into the bow, were the letters "TG". It was Theon's training bow from before they all left Winterfell. How had this survived? How had no one thrown this out or tossed it in a fire. Gods, she was not about to cry for Theon in front of her sister who still could not understand.

"Sans," Arya called to her. Upon seeing the tears welling up, she apologized, getting down on her knees in front of her older sister, resting a hand on Sansa's knee. "Sans, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have shown you. I'm really--"

"No, no. Don't apologize. Thank you for finding this. Thank you." Sansa set the bow on her lap and ran her thumb over his initials. Tears landed on her silk skirts and spread out from their point of impact.

"Sansa, I didn't know. It's this bad?" Arya began rubbing her sister's knee.

"Mmmhmm," Sansa hummed as she nodded her head, more tears falling to her skirts. "Every day. I miss him every day. I miss him with an ache I have never felt in my life. Not even when father died right before my eyes. It hurts so much knowing we never had a chance. Wondering what would be if things had been done differently drives me mad some days. I just want him, Arya. I need him like I need water when I'm thirsty."

She released a loud sob, saliva stretching between her lips. The tears were pouring from her eyes now. Her breathing became large vocal heaves. The bow was quivering in her hand, her body shaking.

Arya wrapped her and Lyanna in a tight hug. She rubbed her sisters back and gently shushed in Sansa's ear.

"You are strong. It is OK to feel like this. You don't need to hide your grief. Not from me. I have had time to think about a lot of things. I get it now. I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you. I love you so much, sister. You will be alright."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing about Sansa's reaction to her niece. When I hold my little sister's daughter, I get flashes of the past. She looks just like my sister as a baby, toddler, it is scary and joyfully overwhelming at the same time. I have always felt the same way with my brother's son. He is so much my little brother.
> 
> I never expected this fic to turn out like this but now I see where a lot of this is going and there is a happy ending coming. Just not sure how long it will take to get there.


	4. A Family Rebuilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff and fluff and babies.

Having her sister's family at Winterfell was medicine for Sansa's soul. Gendry had renounced his title and joined Arya and Lyanna in the North. A wedding was held in the Godswood at Winterfell, Jon sneaking south of the wall for a brief moment to give away their younger sister and to meet little Lyanna.

She had negotiated passage for Arya with the Iron Fleet whenever her wandering heart desired. Yara and Arya had taken to each other. Seeing them together made Sansa wonder what could have been for their families if only…

Though Gendry was part of the royal family at Winterfell, when Arya was away, any time apart from Lyanna was spent in the foundry. He seemed happy and content. Sansa always loved inspecting his new work. His skill was immeasurable. She began bringing young men and women from across the North and the Iron Islands to apprentice with him. She could tell humble Gendry was proud to be contributing to the kingdom in a meaningful way. She was proud to call him her good brother.

Arya was never home for more than a few months at a time. But this time it was longer because she was pregnant again. As she approached the end of her ninth moon, Maester Samwell confined her to bed, which drove Arya mad.

It was nice having Jon's friend and his family at Winterfell. Sam and Gilly and their children had traveled north with Gendry when they heard he was leaving Storm's End and heading to Winterfell. It just happened that Winterfell was in need of a new maester and Sansa could think of no one better for the position. Gilly eventually confided in Sansa that she did not want her children growing up in King's Landing and missed the North.

The Tarly family was also escorted to the North by none other than Ser Brienne of Tarth. She was an unexpected but welcome sight to Sansa and Arya.

When they first arrived, she loved standing on the walk above the courtyard, hearing the laughter of Lyanna and her new friends, watching Arya and Brienne work with Little Sam on his weapon skills, and know Gilly was sitting on a bench below always ready to welcome Sansa to join her. This brought so much comfort to her that her moments away from queenly duties were filled more with joy and warmth of family than grief and longing for what was lost.

It was around this time toward the end of Arya's pregnancy that Sansa received a formal letter from the Iron Islands announcing the birth of a new prince and heir to the Salt Throne. To secure the Greyjoy line, Yara became pregnant. Sansa had heard nothing was known of the father. She did know that Yara's constant intimate companion over the past few years was her sworn sword, a tall beautiful woman with skills like Ser Brienne. She did not expect to ever hear of a man by Yara's side. Sansa and Yara had bonded over their struggle to fend off men seeking their hand in marriage and in turn, their power. Sansa's solution was to name Lyanna her heir. Yara's solution was to have her own child, father unknown.

As she read through the announcement, she saw the prince's name: Theon. Of course, tears spilled out and down her cheeks, but they were different. She had a joyful grin across her face. There would be a little boy that would grow up hearing stories of his uncle, his namesake. There was a warmth in her chest knowing the Theon she loved would live on in someone's heart once she and Yara were gone.

A few days later, Sansa was having her hand crushed by her sister. She barely left Arya's side through the long hours of her labor. Gendry nervously paced in and out of their chamber she could tell it was irritating Arya, so she sent Gendry to keep Lyanna company, assuring him she would send for him when the time came.

Witnessing childbirth was a wonderment to Sansa, how strong a woman is to bring a child into the world. As she saw the head crown, she could have sworn she saw a glimpse of red hair, but she stayed back allowing Gendry to have this moment since he had not been present for Lyanna's birth. Soon, as Arya was nursing her new daughter for the first time, Gendry waved her over. She saw the matted auburn hair on the tiny little head. 

Arya looked up at her sister with a smile across her face, "She has your hair, Sans. I had hoped that I might have a child with hair like yours, kissed by fire."

Sansa looked into her sister's grey eyes, filled with love on top of exhaustion and relief. Sansa herself felt love, exhaustion, and relief as well. She hadn't slept a wink since Arya's labor began but the sense of relief that her sister and her new niece were alive and well was like a signal giving her body permission to close her eyes and rest. And the love, well, the love she was feeling for this new little girl was just as strong as the moment she saw her sister ride through the gates of Winterfell just a few years earlier with little Lyanna peeking out through her coat, knowing that little girl was her blood.

She smiled a tired smile at her sister and turned to walk to her own chambers for some rest. A hand wrapped around her wrist.

"Wait. Sansa, we want to ask you," Sansa turned around to see Arya looking questioningly at Gendry. He gave her an encouraging nod with a smile. "We would like to name her Sansa. We hope this red hair is a sign she will be just as strong and brilliant as her aunt."

She was stunned for a moment, looking uncertain at her sister and then Gendry. It was at that moment she felt the full force of their love for her. They were her family more than anyone else had truly ever been in her life. She felt the warmth rise into her cheeks and the tears of happiness drip onto her chest.

Nodding her head she blurted out a weepy response, “yes, yes, I would be so honored.”

And so, that is how the Little Red Wolf, as Gendry affectionately called her, came to be.

-

A short while after little Sansa’s birth, the queen began to pen letters to announce her arrival, informing Bran and Jon of their new niece, because Jon would always be Uncle Jon to all the children of Winterfell. These letters to the family were followed by letters to fellow monarchs and lords and ladies, from Dorne to Bear Island. As she began her letter to Yara, she thought about the young prince with his uncle’s name and her own niece bearing her name. For a wistful moment, Sansa imagined them grown and in love, a King Theon of the Iron Islands with his Queen Sansa, the Little Red Wolf ruling by his side.

She smiled and laughed out loud at herself, shaking her head at the thought of a betrothal. She would never do that to her nieces. They would have the freedom to marry for love. But, it might not hurt to have the little Prince of Pyke meet the little Princess of Winterfell someday in the near future.

And with that thought, Sansa extended to the Queen of the Iron Islands and her little prince an open invitation to visit Winterfell once the prince was old enough for travel. She had a feeling Yara would know what she was getting at and a visit would only continue to strengthen the bond between their realms.

-

Sansa sat peacefully in the Godswood after a long day of hearing out grievances of her lords and ladies in the Great Hall. Brienne stood just a ways off from where she sat, Soon, she heard laughter and shouting cut through the soothing sounds of the wood. She smiled and knew right away that it was little Lyanna playing with the Tarly brothers, Sam and Jon. They were chasing each other, searching for the best tree to climb. 

Sure enough off in the distance, she could see Sam, a boy of nearly twelve, helping to lift the two smaller children up into the same tree she used to climb with her brothers and Theon. It really was the best tree for climbing, and old oak with thick low branches that radiated out far from the center, twisting and crossing around other branches. The squat and majestic tree had a canopy of leaves and branches that seemed endless for exploration.

Smiling at the pleasant feeling that swept over her from the sight and sounds of the children, she laid back onto the ground, letting the long grass engulf her head and body. She looked up through the trees to the greyish blue sky peaking between the branches and leaves as the wind rustles up a gentle soothing sound.

She closed her eyes and remembered a day long ago, just before the raven arrived with news of her uncle Jon Arryn’s death, before the king made his way to Winterfell, before their lives were torn to pieces.

She had just turned thirteen and remembered a day running through the Godswood with her brothers and Arya and Jeyne and Theon. It was the type of day that had become rarer as she had grown older, for fear her septa would find her and scold her for being so unladylike.

They were chasing one another, playing a simple game of hide and seek. As the boys had gotten older, they had gotten a bit rougher and sometimes a simple tag became more of a tackle to the ground. She remembers running between the trees, her skirts up in her arms so she could run faster. She ran around a giant oak that she knew would hide the width of her skirts and leaned her back against the trunk, struggling to catch her breath in order to be quiet so Theon, who was chasing them all, would not hear. 

Unable to wait out the chase, she peeked around the tree and it was in the moment that arms wrapped around her from behind, gently sending her to the ground. As she tried to wiggle free, she found herself facing Theon, breathing heavy from his run, a smirk at the corner of his mouth. 

And at that moment it was like time slowed down and it was just the two of them. She remembered the butterflies that seemed to flutter, trapped in her stomach as he looked her right in the eyes. And just as suddenly as he had snuck up on her, he pressed a gentle chastened kiss to her lips, leaped up, and ran away, leaving her there, lying in the grass between the roots of the giant oak. She remembers touching her lips with her fingertips as she looked up at the leaves stirring above her. Slowly, her lips turned up into a small smile. It was her first kiss, one that she never even told Jeyne about, one she kept to herself. The only pleasant kiss she ever received all her life.

And now, she lay in the grass, fingers touching her lips as they had that day long ago, remembering the way his lips felt on hers. Remembering the feelings he stirred deep inside.


End file.
